


Lending a Hand

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Inexperienced Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Oral Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-07-11 13:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19928497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: In his heavenly form he wouldn’t have had this dilemma at all because there was no corporeality with which to struggle.And on the other, much less ephemeral and much more literal hand, he currently had a very noticeable (and increasingly painful) erection.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, we're just going to stretch the timeline a tad and pretend Crowley and Az went back to London in between the paintball scene and meeting Anathema. Ok? Cool.

Aziraphale had a dilemma. It was not really new to him, having dilemmas, but this particular one was definitely more in the realm of unexplored territory. 

On the one hand, he was a celestial being who was really only temporarily occupying an Earthly form. This form was a delight in that it allowed him tastebuds and digestion with which to enjoy the culinary delights of every new decade. In his true heavenly form (‘true’ being relative after so many millennia), he would have no appetite, no senses to savor the delicate salty-sweetness of sea urchin, no palate to wash it down with a northern Italian white. He wouldn’t even know the simple joy of being pleasantly full and just this side of tipsy. 

Then again, in his heavenly form he wouldn’t have had this dilemma at all because there was no corporeality with which to struggle. 

And on the other, much less ephemeral and much more literal hand, he currently had a very noticeable (and increasingly painful) erection. 

He was quite aware of the mechanics involved in relieving this all-too-human affliction. A scholar left no literary stone unturned, after all. It was the moral quandary of whether it was acceptable for him to… practice such an act that left him sitting awkwardly on the edge of his sofa, trousers undone just enough to… to… to what he wasn’t entirely certain. 

He had tried taking a very cold shower and then an even colder bath. Both of these things were thoroughly unpleasant in every way imaginable and only provided a temporary reprieve. He’d tried reading his driest books, lulling himself into a stupor. His body’s demand for attention kept pulling him back out of the text. He had tried plying himself with liquor but that seemed to result in exactly the opposite of his intended goal so he’d sobered himself up very quickly. 

Now, dried off, re-dressed, and still slightly dry-mouthed, he could only seem to stare at the thing. It was quite a dusky pink, flushed nearly purple when he tentatively pulled back the foreskin the rest of the way- a delicious shiver of pleasure rolling through him that he’d usually only associate with the most decadent ganache. He let out a slow, overly controlled breath and took his hand away from it to grip the edge of the sofa. It bobbed slightly, seeming to stare back and he pressed his lips together in consternation.

There was no clear message from On High about the act of… self-stimulation. As far as he knew there was no direct mandate against it for Angels seeing as they were not supposed to reproduce. So “spilling seed” wasn’t of much concern, really. Then again, most angels had not spent so very much time in their “human” bodies as to really feel a need. Oh, there had been a few to copulate with humans over the centuries but one didn’t usually hear much about the whys and wherefores. It had, in fact, even been part of Her Plan at times. 

This. This was not part of anyone’s plan. Most certainly not Aziraphale’s. 

He released a helpless little whimper, grateful that Crowley had gone off to water his plants or something and didn’t seem to be heading back any time soon. Normally, he’d have wholeheartedly welcomed the demon’s company. In some unknowable way, he always felt much more himself around Crowley than around anyone else of his acquaintance. 

Unfortunately, it was actually rather due to Crowley that Aziraphale even found himself so… compromised. Perhaps indirectly so, but undeniably with Crowley’s, ahem, _influence_. 

Which only made the decision of how to proceed that much more complicated. If the instinct had come upon him by any other means, he might have been able to logic his way around it. He was, after all, a creature of pure love. So an indulgence of pleasure invested in the self could be seen as an act of simple self love. He had some vague memories of having done something similar once or twice when he was first assigned this particular body. It was never nearly as satisfying as a good meal and so he quickly lost interest. The appendage in question thusly remained almost entirely dormant over the following centuries. It had stirred a few times since, on occasions that Aziraphale allowed himself to sleep perchance to dream - though he could never remember said dreams upon waking. 

He was very awake right now. Far too awake, his entire body feeling bowstring tight, skin flushed and long-ignored nerve endings tingling. He took another long and shaky breath. 

It had all started with that tingling, spreading like wildfire across his senses as Crowley pressed him bodily against the wall of the business retreat center. A proverbial deer in headlights, it hadn’t even occurred to Aziraphale to raise a defensive posture or push Crowley away. Some part of him knew (had always known?) that he longed for exactly that closeness with the demon - shared space and mingled breath - though the context was not exactly as he might have imagined (might have dreamt and then made himself forget). They had never been precious with physical proximity, even when they were still very clearly on opposing sides. 

Some things he did remember from a long and varied past, such as lifting his wing (when they were still a much more physical part of his everyday existence) as the rain began to fall and Crowley shuffled under it. No shame in offering shelter or comfort to another. There were also years of stolen moments together; their knees brushing beneath a small table as they supped, meeting in crowded spaces with the pretense of anonymity but the additional benefit of having to huddle close and whisper. Crowley’s hot breath against the shell of his ear, the lingering scent of sulfur and spice. 

The unwanted protuberance in Aziraphale’s lap gave a pulse and he moaned aloud, hand returning to wrap around it. 

So there it was, plain and simple. Lust. Inspired by a demon, no less. 

Yes, he loved Crowley, as he loved all things. Alright, perhaps a bit more than he loved all things. Perhaps a bit more than he loved anything else. Except his books. And maybe an exceptionally good Merlot. 

So perhaps it was not so sinful to ... _love_ himself as he imagined that they had not been interrupted by the former Satanic Nun. That Crowley’s bared teeth had turned to a sly grin, slim hips snapping against Aziraphale’s own as he realized the effect he was having. Perhaps it was completely acceptable to stroke himself to completion imagining it was the demon’s long fingered hand instead of his own... Aziraphale trembled at the image that his mind conjured all too easily.

Yet the very idea felt like a compromise of their friendship, some sort of unidentifiable betrayal. He squeezed his eyes shut, cataloging miracles that might do the trick without alerting the higher ups. 

“Well I never thought I’d find you so happy to see me,” drawled an all too familiar voice from the doorway. 

If Aziraphale ever swore, this would be a time for it. He felt every blood vessel in his body heat up instantly and, eyes still screwed shut, he willed the voice to be simply his imagination gone horribly awry. 

“Oh come on, it’s not like we haven’t all… had a go now and then.” Crowley’s voice was closer now. “S’natural, really.”

After what felt like an eternity (though it passed in the blink of an eye) spent stewing in complete mortification, Aziraphale was able to unfreeze enough to cover himself. His eyes opened but he found he could not look his companion in the face. “I thought you had… things to do.”

“Yeah. So did you by the look of it.”

“It’s not funny,” he huffed emphatically. 

“It’s a little funny.” 

Aziraphale made a sound of exasperation, crossing one leg over the other and finding that only seemed to exacerbate the situation. “It doesn’t usually… this isn’t something I…”

Crowley shrugged, lips pursing as he cast a glance around the room. “World’s ending. Don’t know why I didn’t think of having a wank, myself. Might as well, eh?” He plopped down next to Aziraphale, sprawling so the outside of their thighs nearly touched.

Aziraphale felt his heart thudding in his ears, his throat, even his hands. The heat from Crowley’s long, lithe form was nearly irresistible. He wanted to curl up against him like a cat. Aziraphale slowly uncrossed his legs, shifting so that their outer thighs did, indeed, make tentative contact. 

Crowley’s Adam’s apple bobbed but he gave no other indication that he noticed. “Suppose I should have rung first.” He tilted his head toward the angel, resting the back of it against the sofa. “D’you want me to go?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer then realized he hadn’t the slightest idea what to say. He settled on a shake of the head. 

Crowley’s tongue snaked out to moisten his lips, his voice dropping slightly in register as he continued. “Didn’t you, ah, want to finish?” He nodded toward where Aziraphale was still noticeably hard, tenting his trousers. 

The angel felt like a man in a desert being offered his first drop of water in days. “Yes,” he admitted, barely able to whisper the word. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. Aziraphale wished he could see Crowley’s eyes behind those dark glasses, try to even guess what he might be thinking. All the while his body ached, his pulse now centering itself at his groin. 

“Go on, then.” The words sounded like a challenge but that was belied by Crowley’s breathless tone, the way his hands flexed in his lap. 

Oh. Well that was new. 

Aziraphale fumbled with his fly, fingers feeling thick and clumsy under Crowley’s scrutiny. “I’m not entirely sure I, ehm, even remember. How this is, um.” He made an uncertain noise even as he freed himself.

“Like riding a… well, you know,” Crowley muttered, shifting closer. One of his hands fluttered toward Aziraphale’s lap and then away. 

“I rather think it isn’t.”

One corner of the demon’s mouth pulled upward. “I could. I mean,” he made a vague gesture, “we did agree to, ah, lend a hand. Now and again.”

Aziraphale exhaled loudly, wanting to be incredulous, wanting to refuse because it was probably the Right Thing To Do. 

Wanting to _want_ to refuse, more like. But his companion did have a point. And it did solve his dilemma of Crowley not knowing, albeit in an indirect fashion. 

His body was clearly on board, throbbing in his hand, the tip already beginning to leak. He closed his eyes once more and took a deep breath. 

"Alright.” His gaze shifted toward the demon. “Yes.” 

For just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw Crowley’s jaw go slack before the demon gave a definitive and almost business like nod. “Alright then.” He looked the angel up and down. “I should, um, sit behind you. Better angle.” 

Crowley leaned back into the nearest corner of the sofa and beckoned Aziraphale to lay against his chest. 

His own chest gone unspeakably tight, the angel obeyed. Without another word, the demon wrapped both long arms around him, a thigh on either side of his. Crowley’s torso was all hard planes and jutting bones. It was utterly exquisite. 

His lips brushed the hair behind Aziraphale’s ear as he murmured, “Just relax, Angel. I’ve got you.” 

A frisson ran down his spine, quickly spiraling outward and down each thigh as Crowley smoothed a hand down his belly. The demon’s other hand wrapped around his hardness, stroking lightly from root to tip. 

Aziraphale bit back a whimper as Crowley’s thumb swiped over the head, spreading some of the fluid gathered there. 

“Tell me,” Crowley’s voice in his ear was low and rough, “tell me when it feels good, yeah?”

“Mmhm,” Aziraphale agreed, suddenly understanding _temptation_ in a way he never had before. 

His hand now slippery as it moved, the demon slowly repeated his earlier action, squeezing upward gently then swiping his thumb over the flushed head. An exclamation escaped Aziraphale’s lips that didn’t quite form a word and he could feel Crowley smile against his neck. 

His eyes were transfixed to the demon’s elegant hands as they moved with deliberate purpose. He moaned to encourage the pressure and speed he liked most and was accommodated accordingly. His hips seemed to move of their own accord, thrusting upward to meet Crowley’s fist. At his back, the demon was breathing fast and shallow, his open mouth occasionally brushing against the side of Aziraphale’s neck. 

The Earth and all its apocalyptic troubles, the world beyond with its scheming and politicking, it all dropped away. The angel wanted to drown in this one perfect moment, cocooned in the sensations of his own body and the hard press of Crowley’s. The stirrings of pleasure became tremors, became waves, a huge crashing tide washing through him. Until it all broke open with a moment of white hot bliss. 

They lay there a few minutes longer, sweaty and rumpled, just breathing silently as Aziraphale’s heartbeat returned to normal. 

“Thank you,” he breathed at last, managing to sit up enough to face his companion. 

Crowley looked about as wrecked as Aziraphale felt and there was something immensely gratifying in that. Feeling infinitely tender, he reached a hand toward Crowley, trailing the back of one finger lightly down the demon’s cheek.

“Thank you, my... um, Crowley. Dear.”

Crowley’s jaw twitched and he pulled away from Aziraphale’s hand with a toss of the head. “Yeah well.” He cleared his throat, pulling himself to a sitting position that brought their lower halves completely out of contact. “World’s ending and all that,” he half-mumbled, looking distractedly at first the wall and then the floor. 

Aziraphale’s stomach sank as the afterglow drained away in the face of harsh reality. He’d let himself be sidetracked by all the chaos of dealing with new and complicated sensations - this sudden and unexpected development in their long and varied acquaintance. 

_Friendship._

_Relationship._

The words echoed in his mind and he batted them away; it simply wouldn’t do to have any more than an Arrangement. But even that had a very real and fast approaching expiration date. 

There was a war on the way and by all rights they were never supposed to be allies, let alone… whatever this was. Nothing that had happened on this plane could stop them from having to face off on opposite sides of a celestial battlefield. 

Unless. 

Aziraphale rose, miracling away the wrinkles in his clothing as he refastened his trousers. “Back to Tadfield?”

Crowley lolled his head then stretched, catlike, long limbs extended and back arching. “You think?”

Aziraphale’s mouth went slightly dry as Crowley’s blouse, already rucked up from their activities, pulled just a bit higher to reveal the trail of hair leading below his belt. He had a sudden urge to press his mouth there. His body gave another stir and he turned away from the sight to peruse a local map until his nethers could calm themselves once more. 

“It’s ah, it might be worth it. Just do a bit of driving around the area. See if we, you know, sense anything. Or whatnot.”

Behind him, he heard Crowley shifting off the sofa, adjusting his own clothing. “Not a bad idea. Certainly couldn’t hurt.”

Feeling a bit more composed, Aziraphale turned back to face his companion. “Shall I pack a lunch for us?” 

“Yeah, alright."


	2. Chapter 2

_What. The Fuck. Was that._

Crowley gripped the steering wheel white knuckled, nostrils flaring slightly as he fought to control his breathing. Beside him, Aziraphale was saying something about the charm of small towns and how nice it was to leave the city once in a while, even under such dire circumstances. 

“Nice, right,” Crowley echoed robotically. “Yeah, charming.”

They were most of the way into Tadfield already thanks to the demon’s lead foot on the gas pedal. They’d left rather quickly the day before after the disappointing discovery that all records of the Antichrist had been destroyed by one of Crowley’s most loathed associates. It wasn’t a bad idea to go back and try something else. 

“Sure. Fresh air,” he responded to another of Aziraphale’s statements. Just to keep up the appearance of engaging as he let his mind continue to bang on about what had actually just happened between them. 

He’d only been waiting, what? Decades? Centuries? Had to be. Maybe a millennia or two. Heaven, had it really been that long? 

And then it had happened. As part of the bloody arrangement. Not organically at all, not in a moment of fierce passion (disgusting what a sap he’d become after all this time). But no. Because the Angel simply had a need and he, foolishly impulsive demon that he was, happened to walk in at the wrong (right?) moment. 

Of all the bullocksy irony. Was it irony? Crowley found himself humming a snippet of Alanis Morisette (hard to do over Don’t Stop Me Now) to remind himself what irony wasn’t. 

“Are you listening at all, Crowley?”

“What?” He turned toward his companion. 

“Oh! The road, please keep watching the road!” Aziraphale waved his hand in the direction of the windshield. 

“We’re in the arse end of nowhere, Angel,” he sniped, face feeling hot as he did indeed turn back in his seat. 

“We’re almost back in Tadfield and once we get there it would behoove us to go more slowly.”

Crowley snorted humorlessly at the unintended dual meaning. “Go any slower and we might as well be going backwards,” he grumbled under his breath. 

“Pardon?” Aziraphale blinked at him.

He pursed his lips and eased up on the gas. What his Angel wanted, his Angel got. It had been that way since nearly the first moment and he was all but powerless to stop it now. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

They didn’t mention it at all the rest of the day. Crowley pushed his thoughts aside as he had so many times before and promised himself he’d only say something once it got unbearable (a promise he’d made himself so many times before - demons were made to suffer after all, weren’t they?). 

The distraction of being hit by a woman on a bicycle helped a bit, as well. After that, things just spiraled on until Crowley found himself acting on pure instinct. 

When he was certain the End was inevitable, that instinct was to grab his Angel’s hand and flee. 

When his Angel was dead, that instinct was to drown his unspeakable sorrow and say fuck it. 

When the time was truly nigh, that instinct was to stand beside his Angel and fight. 

Adrenaline was still running high after Adam put the world to rights and Mr. Young gave them all a ride back to town. Crowley was shifting in his seat, nervous energy thrumming through him. Every now and again, he’d lock eyes with Aziraphale and they’d share a look of giddy triumph. 

“Sure I can’t drop you gents at the train station?” Mr. Young asked, looking over his shoulder as he pulled up to the bus stop outside the church. 

“Um no, thank you. The instructions, ehm, that is, we’ve got someone coming to meet us and collect… all this,” Aziraphale’s words seemed to tumble all over one another as Crowley quickly exited the backseat to round the car and open the other door. 

“C’mon Angel, no need to tell the man every detail. He was just being polite.” He offered a hand to take the box. 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley as he took the offered hand in his own and balanced the box against one hip. “Well perhaps I thought I’d like to be polite in return.” 

Before Crowely could think of a quippy reply, Adam leaned out of the passenger window. 

“Thanks. I don’t know what might’ve happened if you two hadn’t… I dunno, made such an awfully good argument. Per’aps I’ll come see you in London sometime.” Mr. Young cleared his throat pointedly and Adam’s head swiveled toward his father and then back. “Y’know, if I’m ever not grounded.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. 

“You did well today, Adam Young,” Aziraphale smiled gently at the boy. He looked to Crowley expectantly, nodding toward the former Antichrist. 

“Oh, he knows,” Crowley started to say but then Aziraphale gave a little squeeze to their conjoined hands that made Crowley’s heart give an echoing stutter. He sniffed, all focused nonchalance, buying himself time to regather his wits. “Yeah, like he said. Good job, Kid.” 

Mr. Young had clearly tired of these pleasantries (which, to be fair, only made the vaguest amount of sense from where he was sitting) and insisted they be on their way home. Adam waved out the window as they drove off and the last of the sunlight died around them. 

Aziraphale dropped Crowley’s hand to check his watch and Crowley swallowed a sound of protest at the loss of contact. 

“I think we’re early. Should we have a little look around?” 

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Looks like most of it’s church grounds. Don’t think I can set foot on it.” 

“Perhaps just the garden areas?” 

“What’s wrong with you? Thought you’d be shagged out.” Crowley flinched inwardly at the mental image that immediately arose with his choice of words - slick skin and the smell of sex, the angel breathing heavily while propped against his chest. “I mean tired as… Thought you’d be exhausted by now,” he amended quickly, if rather clumsily. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t know. I just. I don’t feel like I can sit still after all that excitement. It was an awful lot, Crowley. I still feel,” he made an impatient sounding noise, fixing Crowley with a bit of a wild-eyed look. 

“Yeah,” the demon shrugged, “yeah. Me too.” 

The Church grounds did burn him but, as it turned out, the graveyard did not. Crowley wasn’t sure what that said about the consecration of the dead but he wasn’t going to argue with a fortunate happenstance. 

As they hit the first row of graves, a light shower began and, with Aziraphale mumbling about his precious coat, they made their way to the nearest mausoleum. Aziraphale put the box down and crossed his arms, staring at the sprinkle of rain. He stuck one hand out and let it patter over his fingertips. “For a moment there,” he began then stopped, shaking his head. 

“Angel?” Crowley stood just behind Aziraphale, close enough to make his presence felt, close enough that he could pull him into an embrace. The demon’s hands itched to do just that but he kept them at his sides. 

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get to _feel_ things again. If there’d even still be rain left to feel,” Aziraphale whispered, turning so quickly his nose nearly collided with Crowley’s chin. Crowley leaned back, going off balance and the angel grabbed him by both forearms to pull him upright. This brought them face to face once more. Aziraphale’s eyes, wide and liquid, dropped to Crowley’s mouth and the angel licked his lips. “Or anything else for that matter.” 

Crowley’s pulse was thunder in his ears, a lump filling his throat that his breath struggled to get past. “S’alright now. You’re here.”

“So are you,” Aziraphale breathed against Crowley’s mouth before closing the distance between them. 

Crowley made a truly embarrassing sound of relief that was muffled by the deepening kiss, and threw both arms around his companion. Aziraphale’s hands roamed Crowley’s back, one sliding into his hair, thumb stroking a sensitive spot just behind his ear. Crowley shuddered against him, clutching a fistful of the precious jacket before remembering its worth and instead sliding both hands up and underneath. 

Aziraphale hummed his approval, pressing himself even closer as Crowley snaked one hand down to grab his arse. Crowley felt himself growing hard and ground his hips into his companion’s, gratified to feel the angel also responding. Sucking on Aziraphale’s tongue, Crowley slid a hand between them to cup the angel through his trousers. Aziraphale made a soft little sound at the back of his throat and bucked his hips, the hand in Crowley’s hair began to tremble. 

They pulled apart just a fraction of an inch, earthly lungs fighting for breath, and Crowley touched his forehead to his companion’s. 

“I thought I’d lost _you_ for good. I couldn’t give a fuck about the rain or… or whatever else.” He undid the angel’s fly, dipping his hand inside. Aziraphale whimpered at the contact, blunt nails digging into Crowley’s scalp and back.

“Crowley… this… it’s not… Crowley stop,” Aziraphale grit out through clenched teeth. 

Stung, he withdrew both hands from the angel’s person, taking a very deliberate step back. His teeth sunk into the inside of his lower lip. Too fast. Of course. He was always too fast. He opened his mouth to say something to this effect when Aziraphale dropped to both knees. 

“What?” was all the demon could manage to squeak out. 

Aziraphale looked up, his hands at Crowley's belt. “It… didn’t seem fair. Last time I was the one who,” he blushed and flicked his gaze away and back. “So this time, it’s your turn.” He unzipped the demon’s jeans and eased them down. 

Crowley’s eyebrows nearly went through his hairline. “You. I mean, I’m not gonna argue with you but do you even know how to… have you ever?” The angel was face to face (head to head? _Oh fuck_ ) with his cock and Crowley seemed to have misplaced all sense of how language was supposed to work. 

“In practice, no. I admit. But I have read an awful lot over the centuries. So, in theory…” Aziraphale tilted his head from one side to the other before grasping Crowley at the base and running the flat of his tongue up the underside of the shaft. 

The demon swore loudly and his companion gave him a cross look, even as he began to stroke in earnest. 

“No need for that.” Aziraphale playfully swatted his thigh then kissed the area he’d swatted, nosing his way along Crowley’s groin and planting little kisses on his lower abdomen. 

Crowley nodded as he spoke “No, there really is a need and it’s gonna happen again if you- oh fuck me sideways!” This last bit was exclaimed with nearly unprecedented gusto as Aziraphale took him entirely into his mouth. 

The angel made a sound, sending vibrations all the way up Crowley’s spine. Crowley put both hands out behind him for the nearest wall and was lucky enough to be quite close to it. He let himself lean back as the angel worked him over, licking and sucking with great enthusiasm. All Crowley could will himself to do was not collapse, his brain spinning into overdrive to process the image of Aziraphale ( _his_ Angel!) with lips stretched over his cock, saliva glistening in the starlight. 

With one hand, he gently pet his companion’s golden curls, letting the angel set a pace that soon had him groaning and ready to burst.

“Angel. Angel, I’m… I’m gonna,” he moaned in warning but that only seemed to urge Aziraphale on, taking Crowley deeper before pulling back just enough to swirl his tongue over the tip. Aziraphale hollowed his cheeks as he plunged forward once more and, with a strangled cry, Crowley spilled himself down the angel’s throat. 

Aziraphale coughed a few times, producing a handkerchief to wipe his mouth, before rising to his feet with a self-satisfied look. “Theory proven, then.” 

“I’d say it’s ready for publication in a scientific journal, at this rate,” Crowley managed at last, blood slowly returning to other organs. 

The angel’s brow furrowed, “I don’t think it’s that kind of theory.” 

The demon chuckled, tucking himself back into his jeans. “S’a joke, Angel.” 

Aziraphale tittered a little nervously. “Right. Sorry.” He looked at his timepiece again. “We should get back to the bus stop, hmm?” 

“You don’t want me to…” Crowley trailed off as he noticed the stain on the front of Aziraphale’s trousers. 

“It, ehm, seems to have sorted itself out,” the angel looked away, picking up the box of apocalyptic items. “Oh good, it’s stopped raining.” He started toward the bus stop. 

Crowely licked his lips, aroused anew at the realization that Aziraphale had not only returned the “favor,” he’d also clearly enjoyed doing so.

 _Arrangement, my arse_. 

_Well, maybe another time,_ he thought giddily. There was still quite a bit more to sort out, for now. And he’d learned long ago not to push his angel too far. He snapped his fingers and the mess Aziraphale had made disappeared. 

The angel stopped and looked over one shoulder with a tremulous smile. “Thank you, my dear.” 

Crowley shrugged one shoulder. “Not a dry cleaner around for miles. Now how about I scrounge up a bottle of something for the rest of the wait?” 

Aziraphale’s smile grew. “That would be delightful.” 


	3. Chapter 3

  
An angel and a demon stood outside of the Ritz facing one another without speaking for several long minutes. An outside observer might see them as two men of about middling ages, who seemed to be having some odd kind of staring contest. The more romantic observer might note that, as they stared, their hands seemed to move toward one another at irregular intervals, dropping away just short of touching. 

“Well,” said Aziraphale at last, after the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable length. 

“Well,” echoed Crowley, fingers curling and uncurling on his right hand as he imagined himself grabbing the angel’s lapel to drag him closer. He shoved both hands into his pockets.

“I’m a bit drunk.” Aziraphale admitted, almost sheepishly. His cheeks were flushed hot and he knew it wasn’t only the wine. 

“So’m I.” Crowley shrugged. He swayed toward his companion just slightly. “Could sober myself up if you, eh, want a lift home.”

“Your place or mine?” The words escaped before he remembered they held a double meaning and Azirphale touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. 

The ends of Crowley’s mouth twitched upward and he cleared his throat, tilting his head to one side. “You propositioning me, Angel?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply then closed it without a sound. He licked his lips, glancing at his feet and then the street beside them before returning his gaze to Crowley’s face. He hummed a little uncertain sound. “You. You did extend an invitation. Back when we thought the, uh, the bookshop was….” he swallowed hard, still unable to think of it without pain. 

“And I meant it.” Crowley finally allowed himself to breach the space between them, casually adjusting Aziraphale’s bowtie before running one finger down the line of his shirt buttons. “Anytime you like. My home is…” he hesitated. 

_Yours._

_Ours._

_You. My home is you, Angel. Has been for some time, now._

Those words got stuck and wouldn’t budge so instead he stepped closer, cupping his companion’s cheek with his other hand, the first still toying with the middle button on the angel’s shirt. 

Aziraphale took an audible breath, eyes darting away then back. “Crowley….”

“Say yes, Angel,” the demon breathed, leaning infinitesimally closer, aching from within. 

“They might still be watching.”

“Fuck them.”

“I’d rather not,” Aziraphale responded rather primly, sliding his hand over Crowley’s where it rested on his chest. “Not… any of them, that is,” he clarified in a low voice, chest constricting and pulse jumping in surprise at his own boldness. He’d known it a little while now, though putting the desire into words was still a challenge. Luckily, Crowley had provided the perfect segue. 

Two points of color appeared high on Crowley’s cheeks, highlighting their razor sharpness. “Angel.” The word was little more than a groan as he captured Aziraphale’s mouth. 

The angel responded with fervor, chasing the lingering tastes of wine and espresso on Crowley’s tongue. Their fingers entwined between their chests as their bodies pressed closer. 

“Oi! Get a room, will you?” A passerby shouted, stirring them both from the moment. 

Crowley made a rude hand gesture and the passerby found himself suddenly losing his footing, landing squarely on his behind with a yelp. 

Aziraphale bit back a smile. “Now, now. Was that really necessary?”

“Oh, he didn’t break anything,” grumbled the demon, bringing the back of Aziraphale’s hand to his lips. 

“He did have a rather good idea,” murmured the angel, flushing an even brighter pink.

Before the passerby had even properly regained his feet, Crowley had sobered himself up enough to drive and was ushering Aziraphale into the passenger seat. With a thought of gratitude, he also ensured the loudmouthed stranger happened to spot 10 quid on the pavement. Just a bit of luck as payment for making such an excellent suggestion. 

The night before, they had both stayed over at Crowley’s flat but were too preoccupied hatching their body swap plan to do much else but drink and fret. This, despite a few quite pointed suggestions Crowley had made at the time regarding the size and comfort of his bed. 

Now, circumstances were quite different, indeed. They’d barely made it into the lift before Aziraphale allowed Crowley to crowd him against a wall and kiss him again, hands grasping at one another as the demon slotted one lean thigh between the angel’s legs. 

By some miracle (provident or preternatural, neither was sure - or really cared), the lift didn’t stop until they had reached Crowley’s floor. They spilled out into the hall, all giddy smiles and breathless laughter. Once inside the flat, Crowley turned to him again but Aziraphale held him gently at bay, reaching up to pluck off his sunglasses. 

“I want to see you.” The angel deposited the glasses on a nearby table. 

Crowley blinked slowly at him. “You’ve seen me a million times before.” His heartbeat was a rapid staccato as he hid trembling hands in his back pockets. 

Aziraphale smiled, framing Crowley’s face with both hands, his eyes large and searching.

“Not like this.”

Something very like a whimper escaped the back of Crowley’s throat and Aziraphale sipped it from his lips. The demon let his hands drift back to his companion (his _lover,_ he thought with a thrill) tugging at the knot on his bowtie and pulling it free. Aziraphale glanced down to where it had fallen on the floor. 

Crowley caught the motion and chuckled. “Angel. Look at me.”

Aziraphale did. 

“I promise I’ll miracle out any wrinkles or stains.” He punctuated each word by unfastening another of the angel’s buttons until shirt, waistcoat, and jacket all hung open. “Alright?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, overwhelmed by both the gesture and the dark, hungry look in Crowley’s eyes. He nodded and shrugged out of all the layers, letting them crumple at his feet.

He wasted no time in reaching for the demon once more, kissing him slow and deep. They disposed of their remaining clothing as they made their way to the bedroom. 

Both bodies were naked as the day they’d been corporealized, hands mapping paths along previously undiscovered flesh. Their mouths met over and over, sharing hot ragged breaths. Crowley had dabbled in his fair share sensual activity over the centuries, sometimes as part of a temptation and others out of boredom. He understood the concept of Desire because every demon had at least some idea how to inspire it, foment it, as it were. 

Yet there was nothing, absolutely nothing in all the world and the seven hells that could have prepared him for this. The sheer eroticism in culminating 6000 years of his own personal temptation was utterly indescribable.

Their human bodies worked as most bodies did, muscles growing taut and skin slick with sweat. Crowley was barely aware of his own aching cock, so fixated on the way his Angel responded to the slide of his hands, his mouth, scrape of teeth across skin and the flicking of his clever tongue. 

Aziraphale for his part was utterly overwhelmed, sighing and groaning with abandon as he writhed under Crowley’s ministrations. Just when he thought he’d reached a pinnacle of sensation, his demon lover would surprise him with some new delight, find another tender spot to tease or add a sharp edge of pain that only heightened the pleasure. His mind hazy and body yearning, he reached for Crowley again, one hand wrapping around the demon’s cock and the other learning the planes and angles of his corporeal form. 

A stuttered gasp escaped him as he felt Crowley’s fingers, coated in something warm and slick, begin to breach him. 

“Alright?” The demon’s voice was low and rough, a contrast to the gentle hand that idled just at Aziraphale’s most intimate place. 

Aziraphale nodded vigorously against Crowley’s shoulder, struggling to find his voice. The demon’s questing digits continued to work him open, sliding against those previously unknown places that made him shiver and quake. Unthinking, the angel spread his legs wider, hooking one over Crowley’s slim hips. 

Crowley hissed his pleasure as hardened flesh pressed against hardened flesh - physical and inescapable proof of the angel’s excitement. Crowley caught Aziraphale’s mouth once more, sliding his fingers deep and echoing their thrusting with his tongue. The angel’s hips juddered against his, mindlessly meeting the rhythm he set. Crowley was wild with need, just wanting nothing more than to be closer to his angel.

“Angel,” he growled, unable to keep an edge of desperation from his voice. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale managed, panting and half-dazed. 

“Can I?” He swallowed hard, “Please, Angel…” he hated that plaintive note but it only seemed to excite Aziraphale further, the latter’s cock pulsing between them. 

“Mmm, can you…?” 

Crowley removed his fingers, earning a delicious whimper of disappointment from his lover. He lifted the angel’s leg slightly higher and positioned himself at Aziraphale’s entrance. 

“Oh...oh!” The angel sucked in a breath as he felt the blunt head of Crowley’s cock nudge against him where he was now slick and wanting. “Yes, my… my dear Crowley. My darling,” he continued to fervently whisper words of endearment into the demon’s neck, as he felt himself being slowly entered. 

Crowley was shaking, tension coiling up his spine as he buried himself inch by inch inside his angelic lover. His cheeks burned, teetering on an exquisite edge of shame and delight as Aziraphale murmured breathless praise and sweet nothings. Once fully sheathed, he stilled to let his lover’s body adjust, wrapping his hand around where Aziraphale was still hard as iron. 

Aziraphale made a series of soft little noises and began to wiggle inexpertly, seeking further stimulation. Crowley grinned at the angel’s impatience even as he felt himself respond on instinct. Pulling out and then sliding back in had his angel’s face contorting in a wickedly delightful manner, so he repeated the motion. Again. And again. 

It didn’t take long before Aziraphale had adapted and was meeting Crowley thrust for thrust, greedily snapping his hips. He could feel the heat building, winding through his corporeal form, the feeling of fullness, the way Crowley kept hitting a certain spot within, and the straining of his own cock in the demon’s expert hands. As his release mounted, Aziraphale sought Crowley’s lips, moaning into the demon’s mouth as he spilled himself over the demon’s fingers. 

This triggered the demon’s own climax and Crowley ground himself against his lover, as deeply seated as he could be, before letting himself go with the angel’s name on his lips. 

They stayed entwined for several long, silent moments. 

Aziraphale was the first to speak. “To think. We could have been doing that all this time…”

Crowley nodded, lazily rolling onto his back and pulling the angel into the crook of his arm. “Oh, it’s only been, hmm, 6000 years?”

The angel lifted his head from where it had settled on Crowley’s shoulder. “All this time?”

Suddenly self conscious, Crowley shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“You never said.”

“And how would I have… have brought it up, eh?” Crowley’s mouth twisted. “Hey Angel, fancy a shag from a demon? Not trying to tempt you, I swear…I mean, you know, not like _that_.”

Aziraphale chuckled, settling back against Crowley’s chest and throwing an arm across the demon’s waist. “I suppose you have a point.” He thought on this a bit longer as Crowley’s long fingers began to skim his side, raising an enjoyable gooseflesh in their wake. “We aren’t explicitly forbidden from it, you know.”

“Sins of the flesh?” Crowley was more bemused now, glad to steer the subject from the personal to the general. “It’s been a long time since I was an angel but I don’t seem to remember that particular, um, indulgence.” 

“It’s not a sin if it’s an act of love,” Aziraphale replied quietly. 

The demon went very, very still and Aziraphale fought the urge to pop up and look at his face once more. His own breath was coming harder, chest tightly constricted as he awaited a reply. 

Crowley took several deep breaths, reminding his earthly heart to beat like a normal human one.

First, the softly stroking fingers resumed. Then, the rest of Crowley seemed to slowly relax. He tilted his head to brush a kiss against the angel’s brow. 

“Well. That’s. That’s alright then.” 

“Is it?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shifted down and lifted Aziraphale’s chin with one hand to kiss him. “More than alright,” he admitted, his voice shaking just slightly. “Much more.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, long and lingering. “Good,” he said at last, pulling apart just enough to speak. He propped himself on one elbow and ran one hand the length of his lover’s body, to where the demon was already hardening again. 

“You know, if we count the, ehm, body swap, I’ve already been inside you twice today,” Crowley gave a cheeky grin, snaking one arm around the angel to grasp his arse. 

Aziraphale chuckled, running a finger up the thick vein on the underside of Crowley’s cock. “In technical terms, I suppose that’s true, yes.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Like to even the odds?”

“If that’s what you would like, my dear Crowley.”

The demon flushed. “Yes. Oh, yes.”   
  



End file.
